


Landslide

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Open Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-01-01 01:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12146142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?Can I handle the seasons of my life?Draco Malfoy thinks he is happy. Astoria has other ideas. Charlie Weasley feels old. Draco has other ideas. Luckily for everyone, Romania and dragons are a great distraction. Sometimes, we all just need to climb a mountain.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SingMeARareOSComp](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SingMeARareOSComp) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Landslide, by DIxie Chicks/Sheryl Crow  
> 'Cause I've built my life around you'
> 
> This piece was part of the Sing Me A Rare OS Competition Autumn 2017. I had a choice of song and one character which are Landslide and Draco Malfoy. The Admins of the group then randomly chose the other character or characters. All characters, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.  
> ** I'd like to thank Jade Presley for Betaing :)
> 
>  
> 
> _Thank you to everyone who voted, and to the judges for all their hard work. Runner-up for Best Fluff <3_

Oh, mirror in the sky  
What is love?

* * *

 He sat down and pulled the blueprints slightly closer to him, dead determined to finish looking at these plans this evening. He’d already delayed in every way imaginable; he’d fussed with the lamp, he’d rolled up his shirt sleeves and taken off his braces. He’d fixed the wobble in the huge old desk at which he sat. He had no excuses left, except sheer and total boredom.

Draco figured the problem was likely that he just didn’t give a shit about the extension on the house; this had been Astoria’s project, and typically, she had given up on it two weeks in and saddled him with making major decisions on a remodel that he didn’t think they needed.

At thirty-one, Draco Malfoy felt eighty, and most of the time, he didn’t even whine about it. It felt like penitence for his questionable choices, and he figured he’d received more than his lot in life. Scorpius was well-adjusted; he was bright, kind and caring, and most importantly, ignorant of his father’s misdeeds. His second year at Hogwarts had started well, and Draco hadn’t heard from him in weeks.

He and Astoria spent most of their days apart, cordially engaged in dinner conversation three or four times a week, and slept in different rooms. The running of her estate was his favourite thing; the family had never been overly dark, despite being Pureblood, and their finances and holdings were far more interesting than his own. He spent so much time ignoring Malfoy Manor that the estate had lost nearly a million galleons in a year. He didn’t care.

He squinted down again just as the door to the study flew open and Astoria flounced in, blonde hair swinging loose around her shoulders, an emerald dressing gown belted comfortably at her waist. It drew his eyes to her nails, long and pointed, painted blood-red, tapping impatiently on her hips

 _Still so pretty,_ Draco thought idly as Astoria threw herself into the chair across the desk from him. She moved about the world as though constantly on stage. Her movements were always exaggerated and large, and she never spoke with any softness. It had grated on Draco for the first two years of their marriage, but he was so used to it now that he simply smiled at her in bemusement.

“Evening, my love,” he said, going back to staring blankly at the plans.

“I only came to ask about this,” she said, not returning his greeting.

Draco looked up to find her holding a large envelope, torn neatly at the seam.

“Well,” he said, cocking his head at her. “Seeing as you’ve already opened it, why don’t you enlighten me.”

“It’s yours,” she said shortly. “It was addressed to you. I opened it because, well…”

“Because you are Astoria,” he smiled. He wasn’t surprised, or angry. The statement was true; after thirteen years of living with her, he was hardly harbouring any illusions of privacy.

“Well, yes, and because normally it’s just notices you’ve decided to ignore from the Malfoy estate. But this...this isn’t that.”

“Oh?”

“No. These came from Romania,” she said, arching a thin, well-kept eyebrow at him.

“Oh?” Draco repeated, trying to give nothing away, but knowing immediately that he had failed when she sat up and put the envelope on the desk.

“Indeed,” she continued. “And I'm assuming you didn’t think you would get in. Except you did, darling. I don’t know why you didn’t think you could tell me you’d applied, but I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I’ve decided you are going.”

“Astoria, it wasn’t really a–”

“Oh hush, Draco. You need to go. This is a big honour. Only fifteen people get in a year. Sabbatical at a Dragon camp! It’s all very exciting, if not very glamorous. I don’t know that _I_ would ever do it, but you….”

He inhaled to speak, but she put her hand out over his, and the ghosting limb made him feel a little ill. He’d always hated this polish on her, and her hands seemed...unfamiliar. He held his breath.

“Draco, we’ve been doing this...open marriage business for three years now, but as far as I know, you’ve never even taken advantage. You need adventure. Risk”

“Astoria,”

“So, you’re going,” she stated, finality clipping her tone.

Draco looked at her for a moment, her face creased with beautiful softness and tiny lines, suggesting happiness and contentment. Her face told him she wasn’t miserable. He didn’t feel those lines on his own face. He loved her. He loved Scorpius. But did he love his life?

He heard himself say, “I guess we have gotten...older.”

“Yes, and sometimes...well, the Muggles call it a ‘mid-life crisis’, but that’s all a bit dramatic, don’t you think? I think perhaps some people need to, I don’t know, climb a mountain. Or buy expensive houses they don’t need. Or…”

“Or play with dragons for three months in Romania?”

“Just so, Draco,” she said, standing to leave but leaving the letter on the desk. “We need to take a look at ourselves and shake up the reflection a bit, you understand?”

* * *

 A week later he found himself with plenty of sensible clothing and a pair of too-tight dragonskin boots, waiting in the international Portkey office for a representative to pick him up.

Which is how he also found himself face to face with a very rugged-looking man, with violently ginger hair clasped in a lazy leather thong, a jagged scar across his face that made Draco’s mouth go dry, and leather boots that laced almost to his knees.

“Malfoy?” the man asked jovially with an easy smile and an extended hand, which was just as scarred as his face.

“Yeah. Yes,” Draco gulped, shouldering his bag and stretching out his own hand.

“Charlie Weasley. I remember you,” he grinned cheekily. “Before we go, you should know two things; first, I approved your application, so if you were expecting any hardship in regards to your last name, it won’t be from me. Second, there’s no tolerance at the camps for talk of the war. It just causes stress, and stressed dragon keepers are dead dragon keepers. Alright?”

Draco let go of the hand he had been absently shaking throughout the whole of Weasley’s speech and nodded in shock. He’d never encountered anyone with such bold confidence; there was self-assurance seeping out of every pore of Weasley’s skin, but not an ounce of pompousness. This was a man who knew exactly who he was, with no apologies and no regrets. It was a little unnerving, and it had shaken Draco hard.

“Good, let’s go. I bet you’re tired. Oh, and we do first names only. Saves confusion.” Charlie winked, striding off. Draco followed, dazed. He hadn’t been expecting….well, that.

The rest of the evening he tried to just stay calm. He ate and drank what was handed to him, and attempted to digest the fifty million tiny details he was told ‘would ensure he didn’t die the first day’.

He didn’t feel like his odds were great.

* * *

“Night, old man!” Charlie laughed, waving to Edmund and unlocking his hut. He rolled his neck and stretched his back. It had been an abnormally long day, and he was excited for his bed. He was feeling old; he tried to ignore that feeling as often as possible, but days like this made it difficult.

The fire crackled as he unlaced his boots and he groaned.

“You forgot again,” a voice said sardonically, as the face of his little sister became clear in the flames.

“I might’ve. It’s been a long one, Ginny, so don’t you start.”

“Want to reschedule?” she said sympathetically.

“No, no. Let me just get my other boot off. Recruits arrived today, and I’m just getting in.”

“Ah,” Ginny laughed. “The _recruits_ , hey? Also known as the fresh meat?”

“Stop,” he grinned. “We are nothing but professional at my camp.”

“I have no doubt that everyone else is; it’s _you_ I worry about. Those poor impressionable children.”

“Not all young this time,” Charlie said with a wink.

“Ah yes, I remember now. The esteemed Mister Malfoy is in your midst this round, isn’t he? I forgot.”

“You also _forgot_ to mention that he was supremely fit.”

Ginny’s grin immediately fell, “Oh no you don’t, Charles Gawain Weasley. I know that face. You are absolutely not allowed to be interested in _Malfoy_.”

“Why not?” Charlie said wickedly, curling onto the floor by the fire so he could fully see Ginny’s furious expression. It was his favourite thing about his baby sister, and he didn’t want to miss the show. “Don’t tell me you’re as prejudiced as Ron about all that war nonsense.”

“No!” she hissed. “But...first of all, he’s _married_.”

“Yes, and literally _everyone_ knows that it’s mostly on paper these days. I get _The Prophet_ here, Gingin. I am aware of how often his wife is ‘seen in public with her latest paramour’. Next objection?”

“Well, how about his son and mine are best friends, and when you pull a Charlie and destroy him, you will end up wrecking everything. Think of your nephew!”

“Ginny, the man is an adult. One who applied and then _came_ to a Dragon camp. Clearly, he’s looking to get away from his life for a while. I, as you know, am a _great_ vacation.”

“There is honestly something wrong with you,” Ginny said, shaking her head. “Why do you do this to yourself? You have a serious problem.”

“He’s definitely interested,” Charlie shrugged. “You should have seen him look at the boots. Get’s ‘em every time. I don’t think he was even aware of his drooling.”

“Insatiable. You are a bloody menace,” Ginny shrieked, throwing her hands in the air. “Fine, whatever. On your head be it.”

“Oh, Ginny… you don’t even know how true that statement is,” Charlie laughed.

They caught up quickly, and Charlie fell asleep thinking about the million and one things he had to do at sunrise. If he dreamed about blond heads bobbing around him, could he really be blamed?

* * *

For the next three days, Charlie trekked up and down the mountain, tending to everyone's little problems, just as he always had. The problem was that now, he was exhausted. For the first time in months, he was back to considering the end of his time as head of camp. He was worried about how much his knees hurt at the end of a day, and the latest lashing he'd taken to the arm was roped around so many previous scars that he could barely see it.

Sometimes, it felt like thirty-nine was ancient to be doing this job. He knew he was one of the oldest people still in the position, but he was terrified. He had no idea what his life would look like if he left here. He had lived with fire-breathing giants since he was eighteen; if he left, how could anything ever compare?

He was deep in thought one evening when there was a pounding at the door. Charlie leapt up; late-night frantic knocking was never a good sign when you worked with deadly animals. He was already pulling on his boots when he opened the door.

Outside, dripping with the cold late fall rain, was a wild looking Draco Malfoy.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but… I don’t know anyone and…” Draco panted, gulping for air. He looked like he was about ready to pass out.

“What’s wrong with you?” Charlie said calmly, stepping cautiously toward the door.

“I…well it seems I can’t actually breathe very well…don’t know why…”

Charlie looked at him for a moment longer before moving behind him and gripping his shoulders until Draco moved into the hut robotically.

“Yes, well, it seems to me you might be having a panic attack. Sit down,” Charlie said softly. “Deep breaths. I’m going to put the kettle on.”

Malfoy dropped into a chair, still gasping. When Charlie turned back to him from the stove Draco was holding out a huge pair of shiny scissors.

“I need you to cut my hair,” Draco gulped.

Charlie froze, eyes narrowing slightly. “Um, what?”

“My hair. I need you to cut it off.”

“Yeah, I heard you, but…” Charlie hesitated, moving back toward Draco. “You obviously can’t see yourself right now, mate. You turn up at my door in a panic, at midnight, holding a comically large pair of scissors–I mean, seriously, where did you even _find_ those–and ask me, a relative stranger, to make a significant alteration to your appearance? You have to realise that puts me in a rather awkward position.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Draco said shakily, thrusting the scissors toward Chalie again. “Please.”

Draco's tone was pleading, painful, and it tugged at Charlie’s overactive protective instincts.

“Why your hair?” he said, stepping forward and taking the scissors from Draco before he hurt himself.

Draco took a deep breath and put his head in his hands. Charlie didn’t think he was going to get an answer, but when he started speaking again, Draco sounded far away, broken and tired. Charlie pulled up a chair beside him.

“I look like my father,” Draco muttered. “I woke up yesterday and I had to tie it back so I could work with the hatchlings, and…I look like him. It feels like it happened overnight. I guess I hadn’t considered my own reflection for a while. I’ve just been sort of going through the motions lately. I hadn’t realised.”

“Right,” Charlie said gently. “And looking like your father is… bad?”

“Yes.”

“Simple as that?”

“Would you want to look like my father?” Draco said harshly, looking fiercely at Charlie with piercing honesty. Grey eyes sparkled, full of emotion and frustration, but the panic had subsided. Charlie shook his head and stood up.

“Alright,” he said, taking the scissors in hand.

He moved behind Draco, pausing when he felt the other man flinch slightly. After a beat, he began his attempt to hack away the long hair, which was tied back in its regulation pony-tail. The scissors, for all their menacing appearance, weren’t actually that sharp, and it took five or six good snips to remove the offending locks from Draco’s head. Once off, Charlie smoothed the ragged edges and handed the entire leather-bound length to Draco over his shoulder. The sharp inhale from Malfoy sounded like fear and relief simultaneously, and Charlie felt his own skin prickle. He knew that feeling; sudden change was brilliant until it wasn’t.

Draco tried to stand up, but Charlie ran his hand against his head and remaining hair, which was now swinging horribly unevenly around Draco’s ears. He knew he was being unnecessarily intimate, touching Draco on the scalp, but he couldn’t seem to stop the gentle caress.

“You can’t leave it like this,” Charlie chuckled. “You look like you had a transfiguration accident. But these scissors are useless. Do you want me to even it out with my wand?”

“Er,” Draco hesitated. “Have you done that before?”

“Sure. Everyone here has, really. I’m one of the few with long hair, remember. Did you think we all traipsed into town for a hot oil treatment and a trim once a month?” Charlie said, hands still in Draco’s hair.

“Yeah, okay,” Draco whispered.

Charlie took his wand from his pocket and moved the soft, silky lengths of silvery blond hair as he began murmuring the snipping spell, watching in satisfaction as Draco’s hair got shorter and shorter. The hair was soon even, fluttery against Charlie’s hand as he ran his fingers over it. He jolted slightly when he realised that Draco’s breath had grown calm and deep, that he was leaning into Charlie’s hand and sighing intermittently.

“You have lovely hair,” Charlie whispered, hoping not to startle Malfoy, and failing.

He tensed up immediately, throwing his head out of Charlie’s grasp and standing up to look at his head in the mirror over the fireplace. Charlie had cut it well, and it now had fringe that settled softly across his forehead. He watched as subtle surprise shifted across Malfoy's face. Charlie figured that for all his calm, he'd been anticipating a brutally short crop. Charlie had been aware of the fear, but Draco still looked gorgeous without the long hair. He looked softer, more approachable, in fact, without the severe, aristocratic part.

“Not bad, Weasley,” Draco finally murmured, embarrassment colouring his tone. “Thank you. It’s late. I should go.”

“Draco–”

“I’m sorry to have intruded on your evening.”

“Draco, you can interrupt my evening anytime,” Charlie said, wincing at himself as the implications of that sentence sunk in. “It’s my job, I mean. Camp head. Don’t hesitate to ask for help when you need it.”

“I… I appreciate it. I’ll go.”

“You really don’t have to,” Charlie said, trying to let his tone settle back into something less salacious, despite the fact this his mind had drifted that way ten minutes earlier and was far more stuck there than he was willing to admit.

“I think I really do,” Draco said, eyes wide and hand running through his hair.

He fled out the door before Charlie had time to react further, leaving behind silver blond hair and a torrent of emotions which refused to abate.

* * *

 The rest of the week, Draco made himself busy, brushed off comments about his new hairstyle, and fit in beautifully with the others. He also studiously avoided the easy confidence and smiles of one Charlie Weasley. The fact that he’d been completely unable to sleep after the haircut incident had not escaped his attention, but he was at a loss as to what it actually meant.

For the entirety of his adult life, something had felt horribly  _off_. He’d honestly never known what it was, not that he’d spent much time dwelling on the feeling. Sure, he'd been unable to pick his own destiny, but since that had always been the case, he’d just put his head down and done what he always had. Managed. He’d never really been truly unhappy, but as he went through the motions of being an adult—as he paid bills and had family holidays and watched the seasons change—Draco had also never really been truly  _happy_ either. At least, he didn’t think so.

He and Astoria were a beautiful couple on the outside, so people assumed they were good together; in reality, they had not slept together since Scorpius was seven. Astoria had requested an open marriage three years ago and had been regularly sleeping with various aristocrats since. Since _he_ had no desire to sleep with Astoria himself, it honestly didn’t bother him. She came home to him for dinner, and he felt like he had an equal partner. He’d assumed it was enough.

This, though. This waking up half-hard from a dream about red hair and scars, men with broad shoulders who owned rather a lot of leather clothing. The leaning into an unconscious caress and sighing like a teenager. This was new to him, and he was honestly shocked. He didn’t think he’d been repressing anything, but his subconscious was very adamant that he hadn’t considered all the possible causes for the discomfort in his boring old married life.

Every day, Draco paid as much attention as he could to the tasks he was assigned, but also got regularly distracted by the wrestling match going on in his mind. By dreams that were becoming relentlessly vivid and not really staying closeted away in the night, either. When he saw Charlie looking at him, or walking toward him, he literally fled. In the dining hall, he sat deliberately at tables with only one remaining spot. He ignored attempts to get his attention. He felt like a schoolgirl and he was ashamed.

Finally, after days of this ridiculousness, the inevitable happened; he ran straight into Charlie Weasley. He was feeding hatchlings in the paddocks, which was his favourite job since it usually resulted in the least interaction with others, and the least number of scorch marks on his clothing.

“Hello, Draco,” Charlie started, startling him.

“Hello, Charlie,” Draco responded, focusing on the nest he was rebuilding and not looking up.

The warm weight at his elbow made Draco wince. He’d been hoping that Weasley would at least leave him be. Apparently, that was not going to be the case, as Charlie leaned down to hand Draco more moss.

“Heard from Edmund that you’ve been doing a brilliant job up here with our wee ones. Not everyone is willing to hike up the mountain every day to play with the babies. We like a good hatchling keeper,” Charlie smiled. Draco couldn’t help a tiny grin back; praise was his weakness, and always had been. “They seem happy.”

“The horntails are never happy, though,” Draco muttered.

Charlie laughed. “No, they aren’t. That’s not on you.”

They worked around the paddock together in silence, moving nests and dropping mice into each corner. Draco’s favourite part of this life so far was the lack of inane chatter. Silence was common and welcome, and Draco loved the quiet.

“I’m going up to the summit to check on the family group. Care to join me?” Charlie said as they left.

Draco shook his head, scrounging for a believable lie that wasn’t ‘you make me nervous’.

“Have to go and help with supper,” he said finally. Charlie’s eyes briefly flashed with frustration. He knew very well that Draco did not have mess duty today, but he said nothing, just nodded and waved over his shoulder as he headed up the mountain.

Draco let out a frustrated sigh of his own once he was sure Weasley was out of earshot. For the rest of his afternoon, he kicked himself internally, moving back and forth between determination and frozen fear until finally, his roommates decided for him.

“Merlin’s pants, Draco,” Edmund said. “Would you go for a walk or something? You’re driving me barmy with your pacing and your sighing.”

Draco apologised and sent himself out into the crisp night, the never-completely-still camp bustling around him, tent lights and laughter following him as he wandered on a meandering path. He knew where he was headed well before he was standing in front of a door, but when he finally got there, it took him ages to bring himself to knock.

Charlie opened the door barefoot, with a loose fitting, lace-up uniform shirt mostly open at the collar. He looked relaxed but tired, and he smiled weakly at Draco.  

“Can I talk to you?” Draco said in a rush. Charlie nodded and opened the door for him, moving into the kitchen and leaving Draco to putter in nervously.

“Drink?” Charlie said, pulling a beer from the fridge for Draco before he could answer. He took it, grateful for something to do with his hands, and sat in the armchair by the fire, body rigid and stiff.

Charlie sat down on the sofa, his simple confidence once again evident in his posture; a leg crossed over a knee, both arms over the back of the couch, and an idle smile in front of a fire. The picture of ease. Draco studied him for a moment, playing with the label on his bottle, and felt a surge of jealousy and attraction that were inseparable from each other and so intense that it almost hurt. He swallowed hard, and Charlie looked up with concern.

“Do you have any regrets?” Draco said suddenly.

Charlie looked back at the fire for a moment, caught off guard. “Well, I mean…” he began, taking another glance at Draco. “Everyone has a few. Though nothing really comes to mind,” he laughed. “I’ve made mistakes, of course, but I don’t know if I really regret them?”

Draco smiled sadly and didn’t respond. Of course Weasley had no regrets; that was how he got to be so relaxed all the time.

“I assume because you asked there is something you are considering a regret?” Charlie nudged gently as the silence stretched out.

“I have been thinking too much these past few days. Ignore me.”

“That’d be easier to do if you weren’t sitting like a prisspot looking miserable on my comfy chair,” Charlie quipped, smirking with half his mouth and looking even calmer, as if that were possible. “After, might I add, having fled my cottage in a crisis and then avoided me for days.”

Draco sighed. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Wasn’t looking for an apology,” Charlie said genuinely. “But tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “You should know… I don’t regret my marriage, the life I created. I built it from nothing. And it gave me Astoria. And Scorpius. I built a life around her and I'm grateful.”

“Do you regret parenthood?”

“No. Merlin, no. My son is… my son is everything. He’s why I have made it this far, why I’ve known who I am for so long. No, I have never for a moment regretted my child.”

“So what’s changed?”

“What?”

“Well, I assume you are having trouble sorting out who you are right now? The hair was a pretty good clue."

Draco looked at the flames dancing in their grate. He hadn’t been planning on trying to voice these feelings, but the words fell out of him like they had been ready all along.

“I was still a child when I got married. I wasn't given options, so I just sort of grew up inside of it. I was Draco Malfoy, Father. Greengrass executor. Head of House of Malfoy. Before that, I was Draco Malfoy, Slytherin. Death Eater. Giant brat.”

“And now?”

“I have never been just Draco, not really. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ tried to sort out who that was. And now I have to, because Astoria has decided I have to grow up. Be bolder.”

“Which is a problem since you don’t really like change much, do you?”

“Am I that easy to read?”

Charlie’s face grew an interesting scarlet that made Draco’s own face heat. He hadn’t been meaning to use innuendo, but his own mind had gone to his daydreams and his double-meaning was apparently not as well hidden as he would have liked.

“So what is it you regret not figuring out?” Charlie said, his voice having dropped to a growl that sent Draco’s stomach plummeting and his heart jumping. The feeling was rather unpleasant, truthfully. He stared at the floor for a moment, gulping and trying to steady himself. He put the full bottle on the table by his hand and smoothed out his trousers unnecessarily.

“It’s late,” he said finally. “I should go.”

Somehow, in the midst of his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard Charlie stand and cross the room, only noticing when suddenly, there was red hair covering his own shoulders, when Charlie’s head was hovering just inches above his. He knew what was about to happen, and his heart reached forward before his mind and closed the gap between their heads when Charlie leaned in.

Charlie kissed Draco, and he thought he was just acting on the inevitable, the thing he’d been waiting to do since Draco had looked him up and down with liquid eyes at the Portkey office. But he wasn’t ready for what he found. He wasn’t ready for a kiss that reset his life. He wasn’t ready for _the_ moment, for heat and desire of a kind he wasn’t aware was possible.

Charlie Weasley was no stranger to sex, and that wasn’t exactly a secret. He didn’t really need much to be attracted to someone, and his natural love of people drew them to him before he really meant to draw them in. Relationships and love were an entirely different matter; even emotions like affection weren’t really familiar to him.

This kiss though, immediately wasted him completely, and he was so unprepared that he literally gasped as he fell into Draco’s lap. He fell, instantly, as Draco deepened the kiss, and Charlie felt him shift into a place of acceptance that tore through Charlie like wildfire. Though his brain was currently in a full panic, he wrapped himself around Draco carefully and lifted him gently from the chair, backing them both toward his bedroom in careful practised movements.

“Wait,” Draco whispered against his mouth.

“Okay,” Charlie breathed, gratefully taking a step back and letting his arms fall.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“I really don’t need you to know why.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Charlie agreed, reattaching himself to Draco and tearing his clothing slowly apart as they reached the bedroom.

It shouldn’t have been this way; Charlie was supposed to be helping, fixing, correcting the regret of the younger man. He wasn’t supposed to be the one so lost beneath the snow that he was gasping for air.

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?” he groaned as Draco fell backwards onto the bed and reached for Charlie’s grasp once more.

“I’ve never been trouble before. Maybe that’s what I need.”

“And what about what I need?”

“Maybe you need me to be trouble too,” Draco smiled, kissing Charlie again.

“Maybe,” Charlie said against his lips.

“Course, I could also just end up bringing you down.”

“Maybe,” Charlie laughed, unbuttoning Draco’s shirt and moving down the length of his body.

“Maybe,” Draco echoed.

* * *

 When Astoria received a letter from her husband notifying her that he would be staying in Romania for an indefinite term, to ‘learn the finer craft of caring for baby dragons’, she simply grinned and moved herself into her lover's flat.

When Ginny received a disturbingly similar letter, she groaned loudly and cursed the name of her big brother.

* * *

 And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills  
Well the landslide will bring it down


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy little epilogue that serves no purpose except for being fluffy because Draco/Charlie.

“Stop thinking, you're thinking again.”  
  
“No,” Draco sighed. “I'm not. Everything is fine.”  
"You're thinking again," Charlie murmured. "Stop it."  
  
“Oh really, can you hear my thoughts now?” Draco scoffed.  
  
“No, but I _can_ feel you tensing up. Did you forget that you were nestled into me after receiving the most brilliant blowjob of your life?”  
“Meh, I've had better,” Draco teased.  
  
“Is that so,” Charlie said, jostling Draco's shoulder before pulling him into a tighter embrace, hooking a leg around him and pulling him against his naked body.  
  
“Well, yes; it's been three months of almost daily blowjobs,” Draco said, tucking his chin into Charlie's chest. “I think you’re underestimating your own talent if you think this random Wednesday night was your _best_.”  
  
“Good save, Malfoy,” Charlie murmured.   
  
“Ugh,” Draco groaned, pulling back and turning to face Charlie. His hair was a tangled mess, his face and neck still red from exertion. “Don't last name me — it reminds me that you’re a Weasley.” 

“That's right, darling,” he teased. “You just got sucked off by a Weasley.”

Draco’s retort was lost in laughing, Charlie-filled kisses. 

“Speaking of Weasleys,” Charlie said finally, breathless and sleepy. “Ginny is going to be here in three days. You ready for that?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco laughed.

“We can still cancel?” Charlie said sympathetically. “You can go home and see Scorpius, I can have Ginny here. Win win... sorta…”   
  
“It isn't though because that's still hiding, isn’t it?” Draco sighed. “Besides, that wasn't the plan. He needed to meet you. It was his only request when I told him.”   
  
“Then why are you so worried about it?” Charlie said, looking away.   
  
“He's too smart for his own good, too good-natured. I don't know where it comes from and it intimidates me.”   
  
“Draco,” Charlie said gently. “It comes from you, but you refuse to believe that. I'm honestly not sure how to convince you.”    
  
Draco frowned. “Maybe I don't need you to convince me,” he whispered.   
  
Suddenly, in the span of a second, Draco was angry.    
  
“Maybe, just maybe, I'm a bloody fucking  _ adult _ who doesn't need you to fix anything about me,” he exploded, too loud and too vicious in the muffled darkness of the hut. “I  _ chose _ to stay here, Weasley, and sometimes I think you forget that. I'm allowed to be worried about my kid, and about him meeting you, and about the whole situation.”

  
“Are you done?” Charlie asked, an amused grin on his face that made the corners of Draco's mouth twitch as his anger drained out of him.    
  
“Yes,” Draco said sulkily.   
  
“Good,” Charlie grinned, reaching out and drawing Draco back into his arms. “All I meant was, I love you and I wish you could see the good things about you, but since you can't, I'm glad you see them in your son. Who, by the way, I am terrified of meeting. I joke when I'm nervous. Stop yelling at me.”  
  
“You love me.”    
  
“Don't change the subject,” Charlie smiled.   
  
“Pretty sure  _ you  _ did that,” Draco smirked.   
  
“Fine. I'm going now. I'm on night rounds. Sleep well,” he said, kissing Draco gently as he stood up.   
  
“Yeah, yeah. Love you too, you sodding Weasley,” Draco said, nestling into the bed.   
  


 

* * *

When Scorpius Malfoy showed up at the cottage door, Charlie's mouth hung open in shock. The boy was the spitting image of his father, with just enough of his mother to soften out all of Draco's harsh lines. He was both beautiful and exacting, a gentle shrewdness to his face that was not easy to read. At fourteen, with a safe and happy existence, he didn't have the cautious air of his father, but it was clear almost immediately that he didn't trust Charlie, either.    
  
“Hello,” Charlie said with a false brightness that he hoped was hiding his fear.    
  
“Hi,” Scorpius replied warily.   
  
“You look—“     
  
“Like my father,” Scorpius interrupted, frowning. “Yes, I know. And  _ you _ look like your brothers.”  
  
Charlie laughed. “Well, I was going to say ‘cold’, but yes, I do suppose there's a family resemblance.”   
  
He pointed to his head, where his hair hung loosely around his face, and he swore that Scorpius face twitched in an almost smile.    
  
“Where's my dad?” he asked by way of response.   
  
Charlie grinned. He'd been hoping the kid would ask.    
  
“Here, put these boots on. They're warmer. I'll take you up to him.”

-xxx-

  
When Scorpius got to the hatchling paddocks, a few paces behind Charlie and out of breath, Draco had to stop himself from laughing. Nature and exercise were not exactly his intellectual, emotional son’s strong suits. 

“Hi, love,” he said, removing his gloves and reaching forward to hug a slightly sweaty Scorpius. “Hard trip?” 

“You work at the top of a mountain,” Scorpius said sardonically. “You, Draco Malfoy, work at the top of a  _ mountain _ .”

Draco laughed, “It would seem that way, yes.” 

“Do you want to see the babies?” Charlie said in a strange, high-pitched voice that was both fake and hilarious. Draco smirked at him, and he made a lewd gesture while Scorpius wasn’t looking.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Scorpius muttered, no excitement in his tone. Draco smiled slowly and looked at Charlie again.

“Hey, Charlie, don’t you have work to do?” Draco said lightly. “We’ll meet you for dinner?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Charlie said, looking baffled, but a bit relieved, scrubbing the back of his neck and flushing slightly. Draco tried to reassure him with his eyes but was pretty sure he’d failed as Charlie turned and galloped back down the hill. 

“Are you serious…  _ him _ ?” Scorpius hissed the second Charlie was gone. “What is this? Some sort of midlife meltdown? Fuck the pretty dragon boy before you come back to your real life?”

“Scorpius!” Draco scolded, aghast. “Watch your mouth.” 

“Look, I think I’ve been pretty patient with you two. You and Mother, I mean. You think I don’t know what has been going on because I’m at school, but… Charlie Weasley is a philanderer. A… a man whore. Everybody knows that. And, dragons? Really dad?” 

“Scorpius Malfoy, you need to calm down. Right now. Where is this coming from?” Draco snapped. 

“Well, for starters, you haven’t written to me in three months. Do you even know that?” 

“What, no I have… I wrote to you… last…” 

“Exactly. I send you letters, Mum responds, you don’t. And then I get here, and your  _ boyfriend  _ spent the whole walk up here telling me that later, we can go for a  _ hike  _ or go  _ flying,  _ or even — Merlin’s beard — rangle a dragon? It’s like he doesn’t even know me.” 

“Well, he’s met you, what? Once? When you were three? YOU don’t even remember.” 

“Not the point, Father,” Scorpius said through ground teeth. 

“I’m sorry, what IS the point?” 

“You abandoned me for dragons!” Scorpius yelled. 

Draco opened his mouth to respond, was groping around for words, but at the last moment, a bubble of laughter escaped his mouth. The bubble turned to a giggle, and before he knew it, he was laughing with his whole body, tears springing to his eyes. Scorpius stared at him for a moment, looking appalled, but eventually, his face cracked into a small grin and he giggled quietly. 

“Abandoned. For.  _ Dragons _ ,” Draco said between breaths.

“Yeah, alright,” Scorpius said sheepishly. “Not my best moment.” 

Draco sobered slightly, wiping his eyes. He approached his son slowly, like he was one of his hatchlings, which was ironic he supposed. He refused to let himself start laughing again. Once Scorpius was safely in his arms, wrapped into him and tucked safely against his chest, he inhaled the smell of his hair, the smell that hadn’t changed since the day the tiny, helpless, wriggly mass had first been placed in his arms. 

“I didn’t abandon you, in anyway, for anyone,” he whispered. “I will never abandon you. You are first. I’ll come home. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like we didn’t check with you. I just got a bit… swept up, I guess.” 

Scorpius pulled back and pushed his hair from his eyes. 

“It’s not… you don’t have to come home. I’m just having a - a weird year, I guess. And I don’t think I was entirely ready to deal with ‘Dad has left the country and is shacking up with a bloke’.” 

Draco chortled again, “I’d be very impressed if you were prepared for that.” 

They stood looking at each other for a moment, and Scorpius finally sighed. 

“You look happy,” he said, back to his blunt, regular self. “And Charlie is nice. He just, erm, tries a bit too hard.” 

“I can promise you that you are the first person to have ever said that about him. Do me a favour? Try and be gentle with him. You make him really nervous.”

“That’s dumb. I’m not —“

“Whatever you are planning to end that sentence with is not going to be true. You make him nervous because he wants you to like him, because he cares about me and he cares about you by extension.” 

“I’ll try. I love you.” 

“I know.” 

“Good.” 

“Want to tell me about your weird year?” 

“Later,” Scorpius said ruefully. “I promised some guy named Edmund I’d come see his ‘latest friend’, whatever that means. Charlie said you’d have work to finish, and we met that guy on the way up here.” 

Draco laughed, “Good. Have fun, okay? Edmund’s a good bloke. You’ll like him. Just, you know, be — “

“Careful? Yeah, no kidding, Dad. DRAGONS.” 

Draco laughed as Scorpius left the paddocks. The kid had not changed one bit. He spent the rest of the morning puttering around, trying to finish all his chores so that he could spend the afternoon with his son. In all his worrying, he had completely forgotten that the real problem was going to be how different Scorpius and Charlie were; he chastised himself for neglecting his son in his new found hobby, and vowed to start sending regular letters again. 

He finished feeding the babies and was headed down the mountain, when all of a sudden, one of the younger apprentices came sprinting toward him, a wild look in his eyes.

“Draco!” 

“What?” Draco said, alarmed enough by the kid’s tone that he forgot his name momentarily. 

“You need to come down, now,” the kid said quickly, turning to run back the way he’d come.

“Scorpius?” Draco yelled, running after the apprentice. 

“I don’t know what happened; Edmund sent me away before I knew what was going on! Come on!” 

They ran down the rest of the hill and at the end of the East paddock, a scene of complete and utter chaos unfolded in front of him; tamers and medics were running everywhere. A large and very angry Ridgeback was backed against a wall, breaching and rearing as dozens of people tried to contain her. Off to the side, there was a stretcher thrown on the ground, and every healer he had ever met was crowded around a body lying prone on the floor. 

Draco surveyed the scene and turned toward the apprentice to ask a question. 

And promptly threw up.    
  


* * *

 

Charlie looked all around him, waiting as the light flooded his senses; he hadn’t been in proper indoor lighting in years, and it was very disorienting. His left leg was slung up in a swath of cotton, and both arms were immobilized by pins. The distinct smell of Skele-Gro hung in the air. Clearly, he had not been as successful with that Ridgeback as he’d originally thought. He regretted nothing, since he was relatively sure he had saved Scorpius Malfoy, and Edmund as well, but he winced as his eyes opened fully, and the bone behind his eye split into a painful throb. His eyes adjusted just in time to notice a stern-faced Draco enter the room.

“You're quitting,” he said without preamble.  
  
“Draco, it's just a little—“  
  
“You. Are. Quitting.”

“Please stop. You’re overreacting. That’s not like you. Just—“

“Fine, tell me what happened then?” Draco hissed, glaring down at him. 

“There’s a new Ridgeback with a broken wing. We were just taking Scorpius on a tour and Edmund went to go and close the gate to the cage next to her paddock and she got angry and smashed the wire,” Charlie said in a rush. “She was loose before we even knew it, and she doesn’t know the kid, and he screamed, so she got freaked out. It was just an accident.” 

Draco scoffed. 

“What!” Charlie shouted. “I’ll be fine. I’m  _ already  _ fine. And so is everyone else. What’s the big deal!” 

“Edmond said that he doesn't know what happened, because three years ago, that would have been an easy dodge for you,” Draco exclaimed. “But we both know what happened — even if Edmond doesn't because you've been recklessly keeping it to yourself.”

“I could do without the judgement right now, Draco.” 

“Too bad,” Draco said, crossing his arms with a raised eyebrow, not giving Charlie an inch. They both knew he didn’t really deserve one. “It's because your knee gave out and you couldn't jump, isn't it?”   
  
“Draco—“   
  
“Well?”   
  
“Yes. Fine. My knee doesn’t react the same way it used to. Condemn me.”   
  
“You're quitting,” Draco repeated.    


A heavy silence settled over them, a silence full of worry and frustration and caring that Charlie was only used to coming from other Weasley’s. He knew what he needed to say, what he’d been meaning to say to  _ someone _ for almost a year. The courage he needed was buried somewhere close to the surface, and it was much harder to deal with than any dragon he’d ever encountered.

Charlie stared at the ceiling, cleared his throat, and couldn’t meet Draco’s eye when he said, “I'm just scared.”

Draco sighed in frustration, and the sound sent a weird, warm tingle to the centre of Charlie’s chest. The man was a grumpy bastard, but it was so endearing that he sometimes wondered at his own sanity. Charlie had never once said anything about why he hadn’t quit yet, and yet here was Draco, preparing to be comforting and trying to disguise it with grumpy sighs.  
  
“I know,” Draco said, softening and settling down on the edge of the bed. “But you knew you couldn't stay forever. It's just time for a new adventure.”   
  
“Adventure,” Charlie scoffed. “Sure. A desk job at the Ministry disguised as ‘research’.”   


“What? Why would you do that?”   
  
“It's where all the Camp Heads end up.”   
  
“Well, maybe, but most also quit at twenty-five and take the cushy government job because they get to go home at five each night and collect a full pension.”

Charlie snorted, “Yeah, well…” 

Draco shook his head, “Hush.  _ You  _ are not most Camp Heads.” 

Charlie smiled and looked away.

“Besides, I'm not leaving Romania just because my boyfriend is bloody ancient. I have a brand new brood of hybrids.” 

Charlie laughed, “So what do I do?”

  
“How do I know?” Draco said, laughing and laying down in the spare space on Charlie's bed. “You'll figure it out.”   
  


“You're useless,” Charlie smiled, wincing as Draco jostled his arm.    
  
“It's why you keep me around,” Draco yawned. “Oh frig, I sound exactly like Astoria. That’s… concerning. At least I look pretty, though?”  
  
“Undeniable. Wanna give me a sponge bath?” Charlie leered, nosing at Draco’s hair.   
  
“Not on your life. You look frightening. Ginny's on her way, by the way.”  
  
“What?! Why would you call her?” he groaned.   
  
“I didn't,” Draco said calmly, eyes drifting shut. Anyone would think it was him that had been in a near-death accident. “ _ Someone _ forgot to adjust his emergency contact details now that he's not a miserable old bachelor anymore.”  
  
“That can easily be corrected,” Charlie said petulantly, nestling awkwardly onto Draco’s head with his chin. “I can be a bachelor again in a split. Can't believe you didn't stop that.”  
  
“Oh, well I'm sorry your highness. I apologise for not wanting to be in here alone when you were supposed to be half-dead and my kid was hysterical.”    


“Shit, I didn’t even ask. Is he all right now? I’m a terrible person.” 

“You are not a terrible person. He’s fine. He doesn’t really have any more fondness for dragons, and his exact words were ‘think I’ll leave Romania to you, Dad’, but at least he’ll have a good story. Hush, now. I need to go to sleep. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for hours.” 

Draco settled onto the bed more firmly, and Charlie just laughed at him. He was like a cat, curling like water into whatever space he could take up. He settled quickly, his breath evening out before Charlie could say anything else. The door to the room opened again a few minutes later, and Ginny came in, rolling her eyes at the scene before her. 

“I should have made a bet for 1000 Galleons. Did I, or did I not tell you that you were going to cause problems for off of us?” 

“Shut up and go home. I’m fine,” Charlie said. 

Ginny looked at him askance for a moment before breaking into a grin and shaking her head. 

“You know what, Charlie, this is the first time I’ve  _ ever _ believed that sentence about you.” 

She kissed him on the head, patted Draco in a fond way that he’d never have allowed if he were awake, and winked as she left the room. 

“You definitely need to change your emergency contact, Weasley,” came a muffled voice below him. 

“Deal,” Charlie laughed. 


End file.
